The Love Song of Quil Ateara
by ellequoi
Summary: What does it take to go from imprint to romantic relationship? When Quil falls in love with Claire  against his better judgement  at her commencement ceremony, he's not sure they're ready to find out.
1. Beginning

The Love Song of Quil Ateara

The Beginning  
_  
A/N: Claire's graduation gown can be seen at (search for "Christian Siriano's Magenta Flow Gown"). Though this part of the story doesn't look that way, the fic will be mainly from Quil's PoV._

Claire could not get her dress to zip up.

It was yet another bad choice in clothing. It had been on sale just enough to be more than what she could afford, and it had been a size too small.

Maybe if it hadn't been on the mannequin, whose figure she'd been jealous of even as plus size... but it had, and it looked like such a princessy dress - the kind of dress it was hard for a girl to say no to. It was wine-coloured and floated like a cloud around her, the kind of dress that would look really good to dance in (she was hopeful) and all-around perfect. None of the other girls would have it, that was for sure, since in her small school she was the only one in her year wearing plus-size. Nor did they tend to shop in Canada (who would, really?).

She had vowed to scrimp & save, and diet & exercise, and then it would all of course work out: the familiar process of calculating how many days were left until the event and how much weight she could lose in that time if she really worked at it. Which never happened, of course.

It felt strange coming back like this, despite the fact she returned from U. Vic. just about every weekend or two. Of course, most weekends she didn't see her former classmates displayed in front of her in a long, judging line. Since she'd gone off to university, she hadn't done much to keep in touch, although most of them still lived here.

Someone knocked on her door. "Claire?" came a deep voice from the other side.

She closed her eyes in embarrassment. _Please_ don't let Quil see her like this, she appealed to the powers above. It was bad enough feeling like a splitting sausage right now without having her best friend come in and see her in all her fleshy disarray.

"Are you all right, Claire?" Quil persisted. "We have to go soon."

"I'm okay," she squeaked, attempting a tug at the zipper that only had it unravelling further, and out of her reach, too. She sighed. Oh well, now that she would never reach it, she might as well swallow her pride. "Can you-can you come in?"

Her back was to him as he entered and she listened to him approach, really not wanting to see the disgusted expression that was surely on his face right now. If she couldn't feel the heat and scent of him behind her, it would've been like he wasn't there for a few moments, since Quil was the type of guy who liked to make his presence felt right off the bat.

"What's going on?" he said in a voice she had to strain to hear.

"Ohhhhh," she wailed, loud enough for the both of them. "This stupid dress just won't do up!"

"Okay. Okay." He exhaled sharply, probably bracing himself for the impossible task ahead. "Let's see what we can do."

He didn't have to tell her to hold her breath. She sucked it right in when he laid his palms flat against the sides of the dress, his thumbs brushing her back. Having him touching her, his breath on her neck, definitely wasn't something that happened. Quil always horsed around with his buddies, but he and Claire were always aware of each other's personal space. They had _maybe_ hugged when she'd gone away to university.

This was that awareness now, the kind you got from sitting too close on the bus, except in this case she actually liked it. Closing her eyes, she let his heat soak into her, her skin basking in every trace of him, until she realised in disappointment that he was just tugging the edges of fabric closer together to make it easier to zip up.

She tried to stifle the knowledge that it was Quil. As her only male friend, her best friend at that, his place in her life was too valuable right now to be taken over by a little thing like the ridiculous yearning that someone could see her in a different way.

_Oh God_, she thought towards the ceiling in another appeal. She was so very sadly, pathetically _lonely_. Since she had matured faster than her peers, adults always had plenty of praise for her. She was smart, reliable, mature, respectful - every parent's dream. Turned out that didn't get you very far with people your own age.

Of all the things she was, what she was _not _was beautiful.

Not that it was really what she aimed for. Pretty would be nice. On a good day she liked to see herself as a little close to cute.

What she really wanted was to be desirable. Be able to get someone to look at her, like her, in _that_ way. There had been a few ill-advised crushes in high school, even more ill-advised revealing them to her few friends. It had always gotten out. The boys had always avoided her as best they could after that. It had been enough to provide a few laughs for her class, then she was forgettable once more.

So she'd never had a boyfriend, and she'd only managed to get kissed this year, thanks to the contagion of Orientation Week craziness. They had been keen on just one thing, but she'd wanted more. Sometimes she wondered, and wished, about how she probably could've gone further-

She had to stop thinking about this. No longer was she the downtrodden and ignored Claire Young of her high school days. Now she was... the impersonally-ignored first year who went to parties sometimes with the rest of her residence.

Well, it was a step up.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Quil as he jerked the zipper up an inch.

Claire winced. If it had been Madison or Bailey, whose turns it would be next year, she might actually have told them. But they were girls.

"Oh, just... life," she said vaguely.

"Useful for your speech." He slid the zipper up another few notches before they heard an ugly crack that jolted the fabric surrounding her.

They froze.

"I'm so sorry, Claire. The dress... oh damn, I don't think it's going to do up now. I broke it."

"It's okay." Really, it was. Claire wasn't sure how she could feel so calm about this. Probably the fact that she'd expected something to go wrong today, and better early than on stage. "Maybe I have something else..."

"No."

Claire turned in surprise at that. "What do you mean, no?"

"I mean we'll figure something out; I know how you feel about this dress. They had dresses before zippers... I'm sure there's something we can do."

"Yeah, if you like arts and crafts, which I know _you_-" she poked him in the chest -"totally don't."

"Hey, I can get crafty," he said in his defense. "You have any safety pins?"

Somehow - not through any fashion know-how, that was for sure - he made a lace-up corset back for her out of ribbon and safety pins. He slipped his hand under her dress each time to keep her from being pricked, all the while keeping up a steady stream of "Ow." She didn't know if it was a joke or not, a bit distracted by his hand and how he drew the silky ribbon against her back as he laced her up. One hand briefly tangled in her hair before brushing it over her shoulder.

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine that the hands on her - even if they were just Quil's - were the hands of someone who wanted her, the quick breath on the nape of her neck from someone who was about to come closer, just a little closer would be all it would take, and press his lips to her tingling skin... her insides leaped and shivered.

"Crisis averted," he said cheerfully, pulling his hand off her back as if it was there every day, and she opened her eyes.

"It looks like it might work," she was forced to admit after checking his handiwork. Good thing she was using one of those backless sticky bras.

"Told ya I'd get it done." He winked at her. "Come on, gorgeous. Your carriage awaits."

She snorted. Please.

The trace of his touch was still all over her.


	2. Ceremony

A/N: thanks to Mori (so glad you saw what I intended for Claire's character! Quil's in denial for now LOL) and Helena-Mara (glad you like Claire! prob 2 more chapters left after this) for their reviews.

Ceremony

It was going to be a good day, although Quil was trying to forget the earlier portion of it. Coming in and seeing Claire with her naked back to him, her dress spread open, had hit him like a pile of bricks. It was like imprinting all over again, which had confused him at first, and then he'd known.

He was in love with his best friend. Yesterday he had not even seen her as a woman, and yet the shift came as easily as blinking; all his carefully-erected mental walls had just come crashing down.

He'd been considering the possibility of finding his mate, the way a man in the prime of his life will, a lot for the past few years. Knowing how sadly incontrovertible destiny could be for wolves, he'd half-heartedly kept Claire as one of those possibilities; only now did he think of her as someone he'd want to settle down with that way.

It wasn't something he wanted to be thinking, though the alternatives were worse. The only thing more heartbreaking than this mutually-confining love would be dismissing it as mere lust, awakening to her physical presence. This was Claire, the be-all-and-end-all of all companions, not a woman he planned on making out with in a hallway.

Amanda Young smiled at him. "This is it."

"In my day, they did graduations at the proper time, not months later," he complained, trying not to let his foolishly good mood show.

"Oh, but it's not our day anymore," Amanda pointed out. He realised with a shock she was right - he was a part of her generation, not Claire's; Amanda had become a mother in her teens. He harshly squashed the thoughts of his time in Claire's room at that.

It would be hard to wait to hear Claire's speech. He'd actually been a little hurt that she wouldn't let him hear it, instead calling up her university roommates to practice. But she'd just flashed him a saucy grin and said she didn't want to bore him stiff any more times than were necessary. He could barely remember his graduation except for a vague recollection of waiting lots and moving little. This one was far more likely to hold his interest.

His unconscious grin stretched even wider as Claire made her way to the stage. The outfit that had caused them so much trouble was covered by expensive rental convocation robes, but a jaunty pair of high red shoes peeked out from underneath.

Today, more than ever, Claire looked radiantly lovely. She insisted she was overweight, and if he ever thought about it he supposed she might not be wrong, but it was the last thing that came to mind when it came to describing her. Her face was alive with expression, her eyes and mouth always ready to turn up at the corners in a smile. Everything about her, from her round glowing cheeks to the tilt of her chin or the swing of her arms as she walked, seemed to insinuate that this was no ordinary young woman. Although he was, of course, partial indeed.

Just as Claire opened her mouth, someone started oinking from the front. It met with some giggles. She hesitated, her face starting to look heated as she looked from side to side.

Quil had to take deep breaths to keep from transforming. These days it wasn't so hard. The packs alternated duties every six months to give their members a chance to age; a curious side effect of maturity was actually wanting to age, not look like a teenager forever. Nevertheless he could not keep the fury from rising within him.

He whipped his head towards the front row, narrowing his eyes at the culprit. It was one of those worthless boys Claire had all-too-generously nursed a crush on. Quil's hand snuck into his pocket, where one of the erasers that Claire had brought for the ride to help with her speech still lay. Too quick for anyone to notice, he threw it at the boy's head.

"HOLY HELL!" the kid roared, jumping out of his seat and clutching his head. "The ceiling is falling!"

Now the laughter was directed at him. Quil smirked. Take that, Chicken Little dude.

"As a mother, I feel as if I should mention that violence not being the answer," said Amanda, avoiding eye contact and smiling.

After a short interruption, which helped Claire compose herself, the program started again. Claire began with a joke about the unexpected turn of events and then she was off.

Quil's smile grew as she continued.

A good speech for a good day. He hoped that for her, it would only get better.

* * *

Anneen Abanee, of all people, came up to her after the ceremony.

"I liked your speech," she said with a hair toss.

"Thanks, 'Neen," Claire said automatically, then winced. For some reason - none that Claire could understand - the girl actually preferred being called 'Anneen' than any nicknames. But they'd gone to school together so long, it was hard not to remember her as Neen-whose-stepmum-cuts-her-hair-with-a-bowl. At the very least it explained why her hair was so long now.

Neen popped bubblegum at her with some scorn. "ANNeen. Whatever. Anyways, the grad party's at my house tonight. Coming?"

In La Push, everyone knew where everyone lived, no matter how few times they'd been there. "Okay. Should I bring anything? Like... food?"

Anneen snickered. "Well, yeah, you can do that. Orrrrrr... you can get that man of yours to get us a twenty-four pack."

"He's not my man!" Claire said automatically then thought about the rest of what Neen had said. "I don't know..."

A shrug. "Hey, it's cool if you don't bring anything, okay, I was kinda joking. But you should come. Everyone's gonna be there."

She hadn't actually been at a party with people her age until this year at university, and everyone knew rez parties were wild. Why not see what she'd been missing all this time? "All right," she said.


	3. Party On, Wayne

**Chapter Three**

Mom laughed when she saw the hodge-podge of ribbons Quil had done up across her back.

"This is how you solved buying the wrong size dress?"

"Hey," Claire protested, "maybe I just wanted something different."

"Claire-bear, you always buy them too small, I know you." Mom reached out and tucked back a strand of Claire's hair. "Want me to do your hair up again for that party tonight?"

Claire shook her head. "I don't think it's really a hairdo kind of party, at least that's what I'm hoping." Mom had been fairly wild in her day, she wouldn't judge.

Something was up. Mom usually wiped her makeup off the second she got in the door as if there was acid on her face. Claire felt a surge of alarm.

"Omigod, Mom, _please_ tell me you're not coming to the party with me!"

"Hey! Am I really that kind of mother? Actually - I've been meaning to tell you - I've got a date tonight. Been seeing someone while you were away."

"Ooh!" Claire flipped into girl-talk mode. "Who is it? Do I know him? Can I meet him? Is he picking you up?" Her mom had been single for most of Claire's life, keeping her family and dating life separate. Claire had always felt somewhat guilty that her mother had limited her romantic prospects because of her. At this point in her life, it was probably ridiculous to encourage her mom dating for the sake of getting a dad; she was past that. Nevertheless, it was exciting. At least _one_ of them could have a love life.

"Well," said her mom, "Quil-"

Claire stopped breathing for a moment. The rest of her mom's words became a dull murmur, drowned out by the pounding of her heart.

Of course, of _course_ there would be something there. She knew as Quil's imprint, he'd needed to be close to her - though he'd seemed 'healed', as it were, when it came time for her to leave for college - so he spent a lot of time with them. Why wouldn't that have developed into something more with her mom? With Claire out of the picture, the two of them had probably gotten a lot closer. Claire and Quil got along so well, so Mom and Quil probably got along even better, and Mom actually understood the references Claire didn't and was actually here, not a kid off to school. Her mind spun with images of them together in scenarios that became more and more romantic the more she thought about it.

So if her two favourite people in the world were getting together, she should be happy for them. It should mean a happy life together for everyone concerned - and boy, was she feeling concerned. She shouldn't be, yet all she could make of it was that something, somewhere, must've gone horribly wrong. The fate that had picked her as Quil's imprint was laughing at her right now.

Her eyes filled up a little. Mom was looking at her worriedly. "That's great, mom," she said, reaching for her mother's hands and squeezing them. Mom deserved to be happy, and so did Quil. Claire should just freaking get over whatever this issue was and accept it.

"I'm glad you're down with me dating Embry," said her mom as they headed out to Quil's waiting car.

Claire's knees buckled and her shoe turned on her.

"You okay? Shoulda worn sneaks," Quil said in the car when she was massaging her twisted ankle, and she looked at his not-dating-her-mother self and could've kissed him from sheer relief.

* * *

Well that was totally big. The party went grrrrrrrrreat and that keg was cool and the... had Sandry swiped the peace pipe her grandpa kept around?... that too. It was all very cool. Her dress felt wet - was it wet? She hoped it wasn't wet. This was the dress of a _princess._ Like Leia. That was a neat name.  
_  
_She'd gotten in with Jay Abanee. They had made out like crazy. Then it had just _fizzled_. Boo. She woulda gone allllll the way. Uni, it was just fooling around, whatever, but, now, she was definitely up for it. Back home, graduation, old crush - she felt _so_ ready. But if Jay didn't wanna go all the way with her, and she didn't wanna either - but it had been nice - did that still count? Did she win? It felt like it but probably not. Claire pouted.

But whatever it was still Jay! She got her satisfaction. "Woo!" Finally? Scoooooooore! Check that off the list and on the lips! Oh _dancing_, that was on the list, too, and she forgot. Too late to go back now, she'd just throw a kickass party next year for all her graduating buds. Then her list would be done and she would have won the rez.

Whoop! She felt a little cold, cuz there went the dress. She pulled up for one boob, then the other boob, and yikes that ribbon on her back felt really cold. Silk was cold. Brr. If only she was back in her room and Quil was there to lace her up again. That had been hot.

Quil, right. "Crosspatch, draw the latch, sit by the fire and spin!" she sang. That was him right now. Maybe she shoulda brought him but he had that whole teenager thing... like when her friends _like-_liked him and he - she started giggling - whoa he had gotten so scared about that. He was such a wimpy little girl when that happened! A dude scared of action, who knew. Her friends didn't act much anyway. Wiiiiiiiiiiimps.

Wait had she gone past? Okay maybe she couldn't see so well. It was kinda dark. And there had been beer. Oh good the window, light on! It had to be Quil's window, and there was a man there - whack hair, crooked glasses, stubbly like anything, and she did a double take because that guy demanded to be looked at twice - and she wanted to stick her fingers in her mouth (that was probably a bad idea) for a wolf whistle.

Wolf. Right. That guy was _Quil?_ Okay, hugging self because that was strange. Quil, just a man, an attractive man. No freaking wayyy because really was that how best friends 14 years apart worked? Yeah she thought not.

Plus wasn't he kinda _old?_ Though he didn't look it, that much, she guessed, maybe but still! Teen stars were too young for her tastes but people who played teens on TV were the hottest. That was a long way from Quil, chro...chrono... in age. It wasn't the _teachers _she watched in high school shows. Too old!

Quil had a pension plan, for serious. Probably one for her too. Or her mom. So _had_ Quil ever hooked up with her mom? Ever? URGH unpleasant so time for another hug for self. Never thinking of that again. Anyway so Quil was just all himself, but now he was apparently a _hot_ himself. Okay she better not look at him. These thoughts. Not. Happening.

Then she turned and looked anyway, and he ran his hand through his hair and sighed, and she kinda wanted to hug him. Quil was great, even if he had to be handsome (awkwarrrrd!). She loved her best bud. And she was going to go inside and they were going to get drunk...er and have a sleepover party (party #2!... heh number two) and it was just a great night tonight!


	4. Boozehound

**Chapter Four: Boozehound**

Quil was working away at the books for the reservation as he waited up for Claire. Harbouring werewolves was no easy task due to the excess of food and clothing needed, and it was hard to account for the discrepancies without an extremely careful reworking of the records and a heck of a lot of falsification. He'd started out just helping his grandfather brainstorm solutions. The council had eventually entrusted him to the task, which had overwhelmed him until he'd been driven to get some accounting qualifications to learn to properly take care of things.

He didn't feel good about what he did, but he didn't know what else the tribe could do to afford the packs. The fact that he of all people was not just the only one of the werewolves to go to post-secondary but was an _accountant_ still felt surreal. His friends teased him about it regularly. He consoled himself, though he did not dare share with anyone, barely even whispered to himself in his mind, was the idea that he could support his as-of-yet-mythical family with it, one day.

There was a knock on his window. He looked up and caught the infection of Claire's joy as she made faces at him from outside. He got up to let her in.

Claire. It had been difficult not having her around. He'd given in and ferried up to see her a few times. In the end, he'd had to concede that it was better for her to not have him interfering and backed off. Sometimes it felt their whole relationship had been him backing off, resisting the bond of the imprint and just trying not to get hurt from their inevitable separation. Imprinting was a bitch to try and resist, but he'd tried to keep a certain distance since the beginning, and that helped him now.

If only an imprint was just love, and that was all it was about. That would be so much easier, without the weird compulsions or obsession involved; there would be some selflessness involved. If science was his thing, he'd probably find some fancy way that imprinting was a virus, and cure it.

Who was he kidding, he'd be a terrible scientist. Maybe the Cullens would know what to do, though. Because amidst the joy of falling in love, there was a steady beat that harmonised with the already terrible percussion in his heart that always went, "She's left you-she's gone." Things had already been hard enough. He wanted her to go, needed her to, for her sake and safety, and yet he always felt a sense of helplessness, being washed up in La Push until she rushed in with the tide to bring him back where he belonged.

This would be bad, completely awful, and he couldn't do it. Definitely not. It would be wrong.

Yeah, having a cure to imprinting would really be great. He wanted to yell to the sky, "I've done it already, I love her! Now I'm in love with her! You've done what you have to, now you can let me go!"

No such luck.

He did love Claire, but it was not fair. He wanted a wife and kids and pet, like, yesterday... was in that stage she wouldn't be in for years - inconvenient. What it had come down to in the end was that he had, despite all promises to the contrary, put his life on hold for the imprinting.

If he'd been settled down by now, he knew that he would be too in love with his wife to be able to see Claire as he had today.

He suppressed his line of thinking, took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Heyooooo," said Claire. She pressed herself against the doorframe. "I'm drunk."

"So I see," he said and brandished a couple of bottles. "Too drunk to have a beer with me?"

"Never," she vowed, swaying into the house. He had to catch her as she nearly swung into the wall and sniffed surreptitiously as she passed to check her intoxication level. Meh, good for one more.

"I take it you had a good time."

She led him in a meandering catwalk into his living room.

"I finally kissed him," said Claire. She flopped down on the couch and gave a dreamy sigh. "Jay Abanee."

An angel on Quil's shoulder would surely be telling him how he had not only expected, but hoped for Claire to have such opportunities. The devil had gone straight to punching him in the gut. He wrenched open his beer. It wasn't a twist-top, which only made things worse.

"Now I don't like him anymore, though. That ever happen to you?"

"No," said Quil. If only.

"How do you pick someone up, anyway?"

"I like to start with, _'I'm hot-blooded, check it and see,'_" Quil said, trying to be loosely honest yet utterly unhelpful. The ab-flashing strategy could be put to far too dangerous use by her in other areas. "Helloooooo nurse!"

There was a long pause. "I don't get it. Is that a reference?"

"And you're valedictorian! They really _do_ teach nothing in school these days! Why, young grasshopper-"

"Shhhhhhhhhh, Quil, shh. It makes less sense the more you talk." She giggled and hiccupped, and he reluctantly grinned. Claire could always pull a smile out of him.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, drinking their beers.

"So tell me again," she mumbled, eyes closed, "how we met?"

"Aw, c'mon, Claire," Quil protested in disbelief. "You must've heard that story a thousand times."

"I had a good night." Whatever that had to do with it. "It was special. I'd like to end it on a high note." She trilled in literal demonstration.

"Okay, sheesh. So there you were visiting your auntie Em, and I had recently fursploded, pack, ways, blah blah blah."

"Not so fast. Nyquil! Tell it like you mean it!"

This, reflected Quil, was the issue of telling someone stories since she was little. She always reverted when the story got retold.

"Soooooooooooo theeeeeeeeen-" come to think of it, she might not be the only one, though her pout definitely won for childishness- "my sense of smell had expanded beyond my wildest imagination. I could smell anything and everything from a couple yards away, and I totally thought I _had_, when suddenly I smelt the best scent in the world."

"What did I smell like?"

"Hey, no jumping ahead, young grasshopper."

"Fiiiiine. Continue."

"If you took all the places that I ever felt happy in, that's what that scent was. It was the scent of home. And it was attached to you... for a while, anyway, then you had an accident."

"Why do you always have to add that part? _Gross_."

"You're telling me. So I went to your aunt, and I said, 'Who is this kid? I gotta know her.' Good thing it was Em, too, because she was practically the only one who knew what imprinting looked like. And that's how I became sucked into your craaaaaazy world. By the next time I had a cold, it was already too late: you were officially my favourite person."

"Awww. I love that story! Can I ask you 'bout it, though?"

"Just don't ask me to repeat it."

Claire ignored that. "What does it _mean_, Quil? Like, for us."

"Um... not sure what you're asking here." He laughed nervously. Strange that it took a fuzzy mind on her part to get this close to the truth.

"You always say it that way, 'favourite person'. But everyone else who imprinted is off getting married with baby carriages and stuff. You never mention that part of it. But isn't that what it really is?"

"I played peek-a-boo with you; I really didn't think-"

"Don't pussy around, Quil! You wanna be with me? Isn't that how this works?"

_That_ was definitely something she never would've said sober. He'd had a kickass speech planned out for whenever this came up, but it would probably go over her head this many beers in.

"It's not how it works," he said simply. "It's like... a magnet. I'm not gonna believe that it controls you or me or anyone's future, it's just-just something that tells you about this awesome person out there, and then they happen to be so great you wanna stick around."

Which wasn't really like a magnet at all, now that he thought about it. Damn, he sucked at improvising.

"What if I wasn't great? Then what?"

"Pfft! Impossible. Look, no one else recognised what was so great about the scent of anyone else's imprint, only theirs. It's a sign."

"A sign what?"

Damn, he'd hoped she wouldn't follow up on that. "A siiiiiign thaaaaat... the imprint and their wolf are good people for each other. That they can get along perfectly." He moved closer to her end of the couch. "Is that wrong?"

She was staring straight ahead, looking at nothing, the spark gone out. "No, it's not."

"Look, everything will wo-"

"How can you not want me?" The words burst out of her, and she lifted large, imploring eyes to his. There was an awful silence in which he could not answer. Her question echoed in his imagination as if it hung in the air between them.

Frankly, he wasn't quite sure how to react. This was not Ashley, or Megan, or Kaila, or any of the other casual girlfriends he'd had over the years. Even Leah, a category all her own, had only wanted so much from him after a few years. The way Claire was staring at him, it was going to be tough to lie - if that was the right thing that was to do. He hurt when she hurt and didn't want to cause her pain.

Somewhere, a little part of him was crying out that she had not mentioned love. Well, it wasn't time. She wasn't ready.

Maybe he was being unfair. Maybe it _was _what she meant, and her current state - no, he couldn't think that way. She was just starting university. She needed to experience life more before he could spring this on her, get a chance to grow up without him for once. The chance to choose someone for herself, not have some bullcrap smackdown-of-destiny. The choice was hers all along, not his to bestow upon her, and always would be.

It sucked having to be the one to think of these kinds of issues and consequences and commitments and everything else. Someone had to do it, though. If things were going to happen between them, he wanted it to be naturally, without any weird magnetic compulsions. It made him a bit of a weirdo amongst the pack. They seemed to expect girls to be impressed by having a furry doormat, and then ride off into the sunset together. The fact that it kind of kept happening that way didn't help.

He probably wasn't a very good wolf. Quil was determined it could be done differently, and he would be the one to do so. One day, he hoped, a wolf would imprint and come to him and talk about how his imprint, wonderful as it would of course be, was wrong to think the traditional dreams about, or want to know how not to hurt the imprintee and imprinter. He could write a book on it by now.

Of course, that would suggest that he would wish that on someone. He would get piledriven by a sweaty pack for even thinking it - good thing about those mental barriers - but maybe it _was_ better to imprint on someone and have it be about discovering how fantastic that someone was, not as much with the ulterior motive of wanting to get with them.

It had been a long and winding road for him, though, and now he was in that same pathetic place as his brethren, having an imprint he wanted to be with. But this was _Claire _whether they ever made it or not, and he had always loved her even if now he was in love with her. Maybe the latter sentiment would fade. Did he want it to? Probably not, but it would make things a lot easier. Could happen.

Looking at Claire's anguished face, what she'd said played again and again in his head. _"How can you not want me?"_ He wondered if he would always hear that now, if it would haunt him.

He still had to answer her. In a night where he had continually been at a loss for what to say, he was drawing the biggest blank right about now.

"Do you want _me_?" he forced himself to ask. He had to know her answer to gauge what would be right for him to say.

She waved off his issue. "How is _that_ the question? You're amazing, gorgeous and my best friend, and anyone would be crazy not to want you, hello," she said, flippantly counting the list off with her fingers.

A quote, long buried in a labyrinthine poem from an English class, came to him in response - "_'That is not it at all/That is not what I meant, at all.'_" - and the question after it: "_would it have been worth it, after all?_"

And it was still tempting; he was still a wolf in the horrifying throes of an imprint, no matter how lightly he had explained it away to Claire. They probably would eventually find a way to make it work through strength of their friendship alone. She wouldn't have been in love with him, and she wouldn't have picked him as her first choice, but they'd be together now rather than waiting. Quil had never harboured the expectation of coupledom, but his wishing and hoping and thinking and praying for a future together had been long in the making. Only since today, though, had he wanted her in that way. Look how well that was turning out.

Had they not spent so many precious years together as comrades - their imprint bond shaped differently as a result - Quil probably would wear Claire down with doggish devotion and adulation right now, like his packmates would.

It would not be worth it, after all, and he knew it. Right now he was just using the fantasy of that dark path to avoid how very hurt he felt over her response. Very general, very complimentary, very devoid of anything deeper.

This night just was not working out.

"-always pictured," she was saying, "I know it's wrong, but I thought one day, if we didn't have anyone else, we would end up together."

You know you're an imprinted werewolf when you get a commitment boner - even when you're the consolation prize. That was probably what he deserved for assumng himself the guy his girl would dump other guys for.

"So?" she burst out. "Answer my question!"

Trying to comfort her, he moved towards her very slowly, more feline than canine. It occured to him that he probably looked predatory looming above her so he sunk down next to her on the chesterfield.

She bolted upright, bringing her face near his, and stroked his arm, sending the hair on his arm on end.

"Come on. There must be something?"

Then he understood.

This wasn't about him or his feelings in the slightest, but her issue, a failing she thought she had. Claire would only ever be with him now because he'd be the only person to ask her. It would take someone else - probably a number of someone elses, much as he hated to admit it - to prove her otherwise.

His decision-making processes factored in how sad and agitated she looked, and he yielded instantly to the truth. He pushed through the air that had become so heavy and placed his lips to her shoulder. She jumped and bumped into his nose.

They had to laugh. Of course something like that would happen with the two of them involved.

His lips explored her soft skin slowly, tracing a way up from her wrist to her elbow, her clavicle, the nape of her neck. Slowly, so slowly, not taking his eyes off hers, so that even she in her intoxicated state could catch his meaning. His hands he did not dare lift, knowing they would overtake him. He licked a trail to her ear, sharp-tasting on her neck from perfume, salty and sweet and slightly boozy, and whispered into it, "Anyone would be crazy not to want _you_." She shivered, goosebumps rising along her arm. His stomach lurched and leaped.

For just one sweet moment, burying his face in her shoulder and neck, breathing her in, he indulged himself a little longer. He hit a sensitive spot and she jolted, gasping, and _oh wow_.

Quil thrust himself away from her, reaching for her hands to hold. Wonder and awe were clear in her gaze. He loved seeing that look in a woman's face, that _oh wow_, but it looked so utterly unfamiliar in hers - not quite right somehow. Even she seemed unused to it.

He sighed. She wasn't the least bit ready, let alone _interested in him_. This was a mistake, and, after the rest of the night, the final straw.

"I think it's time to rest now," he said, nudging her off the couch. "You better go get ready for bed."

She brightened at the idea of bed, and he tried very, very hard to ignore that, mind firmly on his wireless bill instead. He frog-marched her up the stairs ("Come on, Claire-bear, get on up") and they went their separate ways to their separate rooms.

He heard her collapse back on her bed and make a sound like a kettle letting off steam. He took a shower.

It took him a long time to get to sleep, staring at the ceiling and sweating through his pajamas (when you hang around with someone that much younger, you wear as many clothes as possible). When almost asleep, the poem whispered to him once more, all in a jumble, not quite how it was supposed to be.

_"And I have known the eyes already, known them all—the eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, and when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, when I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, then how should I begin to spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? And how should I presume?"_

There'd been a line somewhere in it about daring, too.

_"How can you not want me?"_

He did not dare.

* * *

**A/N**: the poem Quil is thinking of is "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T. S. Eliot. Just a short epilogue left, now.


	5. The Morning After

**Chapter Four: The Morning After**

Quil woke up early to fry up a good ol' greasy hangover breakfast, the perfect kind of thing for post grad celebrations. A little concerned about the expression he would see in the eyes meeting his across the table, he wolfed his down before Claire even got up. By the time she came downstairs, hers was cold and he, unfortunately, was in need of second breakfast anyway.

"By the way," she said, mouth full, "I do anything stupid while I detoxed? Anything juicy come up?"

He looked at her for a long time before answering. His silence seemed to unnerve her.

"Aw, c'mon, you can tell me. What was it? Oh my gosh-"

"Just calculating what you owe me for a new roof. Your snoring totally took the last one off."

"Very funny, Dayquil. See you at the holidays?"

"Oh. You're staying at the dorms on weekends now?"

"Now that I've seen everyone here, it's like I've done what I need to do for a while, y'know? Plus dorm weekends get pretty partying!" She shimmied a little in demonstration.

"Okay, uh, you do what you gotta do. Guess I'll have to hold favourite person tryouts for until you get back."

Claire got an incredulous look on her face. "Hey!" Then her face screwed up in sudden thought. Quil wanted to kick himself for using a phrase that could remind her of last night.

Hastily, he said, "Like that isn't what your, uh, dorm nights will be about for you, Miss Heartbreaker?" It was like driving a knife into him to say it, but it was the topic foremost in his mind, so it popped out anyway in his haste. It came out wrong, of course. He was still trying to separate the favourite person circle from the significant other circle in the Venn diagram in his head.

She smiled shyly, looking down. "Well, if I'm lucky..."

"Hey now," he said. "Don't get _too_ lucky, you hear? I don't want to have to swim over there and kick some fratboy ass."

Her smile became smug. "I'm gratified that you think I'll be swimming in fratboy ass."

"I don't think you quite got my message."

Her dimple came out. "Well, it's what I heard - and will continue to hear, before you try to repeat it."

"For the record, I think you can get lots of fratboy ass. Why else do you think I'd want to kick it?"

"Oh Quil, I do love you. You would think like that."

He was supposed to return the sentiment but would just come on too strong, so soon after last night. Instead, he tried to smile. Jeez, his face had gotten really uncooperative the past few years. He'd be a blinker or mouthbreather next.

"Well, I gotta go," she said brightly when she finished her meal. "See you Thanksgiving, and Canadian Thanksgiving."

They put the dishes in the sink then walked to the door, and she clutched his shoulder for balance as she put on her shoes. Clearly this was the closest thing to a goodbye hug they would share, so when she did not approach he gave her an awkward little wave.

"Miss you til then."

"Same. See ya!"

"Stay safe!" he shouted right before his front door closed and was rewarded with a small laugh from his veranda.

After she left, the house falling quiet again, he pulled out his book of lies and got to work. Inexplicably, he changed his mind, tossing it aside for his well-worn copy of _Emma_ and shrugging out of his overshirt. He didn't notice what broke the silence of his reading until he found a tune going through his head:  
_Sun comes up and goes away, so does graduation day...  
_  
He stopped the voice in his head, letting peace reign once more. Laying low would be all right. He and Claire could grow up some as they grew apart some. It was going to be really really hard, but they needed to. She needed it. And if he got lonely without his best friend, well - he grinned as his mind continued through the song. "I guess this pack of wolves will pass for friends," indeed.

END

* * *

**A/N**: The song Quil is thinking of is "Fly Away From Here (Graduation Day)" by Dropline. Along with sympathising with Mr. Rochester, I get the feeling Quil feels for Ted Mosby as well, but that I didn't manage to fit in.

This is the first Twilight fic I've finished but the lack of feedback in later chapters makes me nervous how it turned out (and totally bummed. That too). My goal was to find a way to write imprinting so that it involved actual choice, sacrifice and responsibility – just like a real relationship. I find it hard to believe that insta-legal Claire is in any state for romance with Quil, who's in his thirties, so I wanted to capture that moment in time when she's an adult but he has to let her go so she can experience the world.

Did I accomplish that? What are your thoughts on imprinting and how it's portrayed here? Please let me know!


End file.
